There Are Rules
by Rose Malmaison
Summary: Tony knows the rules because he's broken all of them at one time or another. Will he be tempted to break them again with the newly transferred female agent? Slash Gibbs/DiNozzo. 8x17 spoilers. Complete.


**There Are Rules by Rose Malmaison**

Slash, Gibbs/DiNozzo, established relationship  
Warnings: m/m (suggested), gay characters, language  
Spoilers: 8x17 One Last Score tag, a one-chapter short follow-up.

Summary: Tony couldn't help himself even if there _were_ rules against touching.

_I am the sin; and the temptation. And the desire. And the pain and the loss.  
~ Dr. Who_

There are rules…

…and then there are rules.

He had barely felt the whack to the back of his head even though it had been dealt with a bit more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary - or warranted. _"Hey! You hear me, DiNozzo?"_

Hey, a guy could still look, couldn't he? Now that Gibbs had gone home, Tony leaned against wall near the shower and checked out the newly transferred agent. She was certainly easy on the eyes with all that long blond hair (strawberry or champagne, or had it been just the reflection of the pumpkin-hued walls up in the bullpen that made it so?) that swayed every time she moved. And her legs, hips and shoulders, so smooth and beautiful and so damned tempting. And man…those breasts that right now were barely covered by a rather insubstantial towel.

Tony couldn't help himself even if there _were_ rules against touching. There were rules against keeping secrets and saying you were sorry, too, and the one about never getting personally involved, and then there was good old rule number twelve. Gibbs had broken that particular rule and almost two years ago and Tony had gone alone for the ride.

"You ready to give up women, Tony?" Gibbs had asked almost defiantly.

Tony had understood that his lover was seeking affirmation of his commitment. "You're the only one, Jethro. I gave up women the minute you told me to snap out of it." That was only half the truth though. The instant that Tara had told him that all he had to do was find the right woman, and it had felt so _wrong_, he'd realized why. It had been sitting there right in front of him all that time, for fucking _years_, and he hadn't even seen it. Now how dumb was that?

When Gibbs had approached him almost eight weeks later, on the night they'd returned from Israel, sneaking up from behind when he least expected it, Tony was more than ready. All it had taken was a calloused hand on the back of his neck, the weight of Jethro's body as he leaned against him, and a softly spoken plea. "Stay."

It seemed as though he'd broken all of the rules at one time or another, and some he'd broken more than once. He wasn't going to lie - he would continue to bend and break Gibbs' rules because they were only meant as a guideline, weren't they? They existed as reminders to keep your mouth shut, to fix your own damned mistakes rather than apologize for them, and to keep your hands to yourself and your dick in your pants, and to never, ever fall in love with your boss.

A fat lot of good that rule was.

Tony wondered if there were any rules he _hadn't_ broken but he'd have to take a rain check on that interesting question because right now there was a half-naked woman standing only inches away from him, who was intelligent, independent, successful, and professional…and she was gazing at his mouth like she had every intention of taking him up on whatever it was that he was about to offer her. A kiss, and more kisses, involving tongues and teeth and entire bodies, one less towel and a lot less clothing, too. There'd be touching and caressing, and it was entirely likely there'd be some fucking going on in there, and very soon.

Wants and desires accelerated out of control and veered dangerously to one side, and then finally settled into third gear, smooth and powerful.

He had managed to avoid most of those sexual harassment sessions over the years, with their glossy pamphlets and PowerPoint presentations citing yellow- and red-light warnings that served to remind wandering minds and hands to stay where they belonged. And right now there were some very bright and urgently flashing red lights doing a tango in his brain. But Tony tuned out the warnings, just like he had ignored the head-slap that Gibbs had delivered. He leaned in, inhaling the tantalizing scent of her shampoo, clean, lightly perfumed and oh-so-feminine. Then everything downshifted - clutch, throttle, shift - and the memory of pine and ginseng filled his nostrils, the unmistakable aroma of the North Woods aftershave he'd insisted on buying Gibbs last time they were at Sears because (he finally admitted) the store _did_ have some decent products. And the words spilled out of Tony's mouth without any forethought: "There are rules against this."

She smiled knowingly, so certain of herself, and of him, and she said in a low sexy voice, "No there aren't."

Her mouth was so close, and Tony said, lips bare inches from a kiss, "'Let us not be distracted by the women who are here to lead us in to situations that would lead us straight into hell and destroy our souls forever….with their short skirts and tight sweaters.'"

She pulled back with a puzzled frown.

"'Secret Life of the American Teenager,'" Tony explained. "Don't worry, you'll catch on eventually."

When Tony arrived home the house was dark except for a light shining in the basement. Even before he'd removed his shoes and hung up his coat, he sensed something was wrong. Yup, no tantalizing smell of dinner on the stove, no little white containers of Chinese take-out sitting on the kitchen table (and places laid with one set of chopsticks and one fork.) No welcoming hubby with open arms and a sloppy kiss tasting of beer tinged with exhaustion.

The basement door was partially open, a subtle hint that Tony wasn't entirely in the doghouse, so he called down that he was home. There was no verbal response, but the sound of sandpaper rasping across wood and then, a moment later, the clink of a glass, made it clear that Jethro was drinking and not yet ready to talk.

Tony rummaged around in the fridge and found something edible that could be heated and eaten in a bowl in front of the TV. It looked like chicken curry casserole and although he didn't recall making any recently, Jethro was pretty good about tossing out anything over a week old, or that had obvious signs of mold having sex on it. Soon Tony was settled in front of his TV - his big-screen plasma with its motorized swiveling stand and surround sound - with his easy-to-eat dinner and a big glass of Viognier wine.

One news program, a History Channel special, and a good portion of the color-restored version of 'Bus Stop' later, there were soft steps behind him. Jethro stood there silently almost long enough for Tony to turn around, but just as he entreated Jethro to "come sit with me," the older man did exactly that.

Jethro sat close but not quite touching, his eyes were fixed on the screen, so Tony knew it was going to take some deft maneuvering to make restoration. "Marilyn's accent is horrible," Tony commented. "It's sorta southern belle meets hillbilly, but the screenplay's good. I love it when Carl, the bus driver tells the woman in the diner, 'I'm big all over.'"

Jethro made a humph kind of sound, that was a combination of amusement and derision delivered in a way that was pure Gibbs. After a long pause he asked quietly, "You ever think you've turned into your father?"

Tony turned and stared, affronted on one hand, yet knowing what lay behind that question. "It's only wine, and he prefers to watch musicals. What about you?" He said that with a bit more bite than intended, but Jethro knew better than to rub salt into that particular wound.

Jethro shrugged one shoulder. "When things are rough my dad goes fishing."

"It's winter, Jethro."

"Okay, ice fishing then."

"Can't. The ice isn't thick enough right now," Tony said, feeling like they were acting out a scene in a foreign film where every sentence hung heavy with allusive meanings and the images were at odds with the dialog. He'd seen a Vietnamese film once that _might_ have had a plot, but the cinematographer had been overly preoccupied with filming raindrops falling on leaves in a jungle. It rained for the entire ninety minutes. Reading subtitles soon becomes tiresome when you don't understand the root of the language. Luckily he could read Jethro's subtitles just fine.

"If he couldn't go fishing he worked on some heap of junk out in the garage," Jethro said impatiently.

Tony nodded wisely. "Like the way you work on your boat down in the basement."

"All that fishing drove my mother crazy."

"My mother hated musicals and turned to decorating." Tony couldn't help smiling, both at the memory of his mother, and at the strange conversation. "And I'm glad you have your boat to work on."

"Guess I'm like my dad then," Jethro said as he leaned forward to pick up Tony's half-full glass of wine. He drank from it without asking, which irked Tony. He didn't like sharing his food even if he stole from everyone else's plates.

"I love your dad, Jethro. I'll get you a glass," Tony offered. The reply was, as expected, a shake of Jethro's head. Suddenly tired of the game, and knowing, _really knowing_, that he was nothing like his own father and thanking God for that small mercy, Tony reached out and stroked his lover's silver hair. It was a gentle caress that came with an affectionate smile and a sincere "I'm sorry." Blue eyes turned his way for the first time that evening, open and vulnerable in a way that took Tony's breath away. "God, I'm so sorry," Tony said, pulling Jethro into his arms even as he was hugged tight. He'd said it twice and he'd meant it both times, but he knew what was coming next.

"Don't," was all Jethro said, his voice, muffled in Tony's neck, accompanied by warm breath and kisses under Tony's ear. They clung to each other for a while and then Jethro said fiercely, "You didn't listen to me."

"No, I didn't." Because it bore repeating and because he needed to be clear, Tony said, "I am still sorry, and I _did_ hear you in the end. Loud and clear."

"You know the rules," Gibbs said, his mouth sliding across Tony's jaw until he discovered his mouth and was able to offer kisses of reassurance, possession and love.

"I know the rules, Jethro," Tony confirmed in between kisses. He held onto Jethro's face, cupping his cheeks between gentle palms. "And for once I didn't break a single one of them."

***end ***


End file.
